


In the Dark and Silence

by kams_log



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Claustrophobia, Claustrophobic Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Panic Attacks, Understanding Ben, Understanding Lisa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kams_log/pseuds/kams_log
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He found the red cooler where they left it, still sitting beneath the canned goods like they were born to live there. Dean shook his head and stepped inside, knelt down and wrapped his hands around the handles.</p><p>“Alright, you better move for me or I’m gonna’ be pissed,” Dean muttered. The red cooler sat blankly in front of him. </p><p>Dean pulled, and immediately heard a sharp clang from the door. His eyes shot up to the side and his back went rigid. </p><p>Paling, he turned to look with horror at the only thing that sound could have meant.</p><p>The door had slammed shut. It only opened from the outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Dark and Silence

**Author's Note:**

> i've been having some intense dean/lisa feels lately and thought i'd share them with you.
> 
> (in a perfect world, dean and lisa and ben would have lived happily ever after together and sam would have somehow been rescued and they all would have gotten to live the happy lives they deserved. the end.)
> 
> i hope you all enjoy it! i apologize for any mistakes, they're all mine, i wrote this at midnight.

Dean didn’t like to talk about it. He didn’t like having to admit to his own weaknesses, his own flaws. Dean knew he wasn’t perfect, and he knew that he was probably a step or two away from abomination status. But that didn’t mean he liked letting other people see him at his lowest.

He’d been that way for as long as he could remember. When Sam was growing up and first learning about the monsters in the world, Dean had made it his number one priority to make sure Sam always felt safe. Dean made the hard choices, Dean took the biggest hits and responsibilities. He didn’t do it because he thought Sam couldn’t handle it. He did it to make sure Sam would be okay. That Sam would feel safe and secure. Dean couldn’t afford to look weak in front of his little brother, let alone his father.

He needed to be the strong one. He needed to make sure his family could rely on him and trust him when it mattered.

So of course, of course, Dean would have the damnedest fear of flying, and small spaces.

Flying, Dean could live with. It wasn’t like they flew for a living. They drove. It wasn’t so big a problem if Dean would probably never have to set foot in an air terminal in his life.

But small spaces… that one caught him by surprise. And it sure as hell could have had better timing to make itself known. Like back when Dean was in the closet digging out all the victim’s old possessions to burn away the ghost. Or back when he was crawling through the air ducts of a building a werewolf was working in on the late shift.

But of course, of course it would only make itself known at the moment it counted most.

They were hunting a shifter. They didn’t run into them too often, and it was Dean’s first. Sam was too young for a hunt that big, so he was with Pastor Jim while Dean and John loaded up their silver bullets and shipped out.

It was raining that evening. Dean remembered that vividly. What he couldn’t remember was how he ended up alone in the latest victim’s house, with the shifter, and John nowhere in sight. Dean wasn’t even sure he was in the same house. It was a fluke. Dean had convinced himself of that for years. But now, in retrospect, John was probably hoping Dean would distract it, unaware that there were two shifters that would keep John busy for the next several hours as Dean sat trapped in the smallest closet of his life with a rotting corpse.

Dean couldn’t remember much of what happened after he shot the shifter, or after the closet door shut. He remembered banging on the door, screaming his head off as the body’s heavy, warm weight pushed against his legs and thighs.

It smelled like something straight out of the mouth of hell, and Dean ended up puking twice before he finally heard activity outside the door.

It was John. And as Dean found out later, he’d been trapped in the closet for twelve hours. John had lost track of him when the other shifter showed up, and then spent the next half day searching for Dean after he ‘got rid’ of the second body.

Dean didn’t ask why the hell it took so long. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to hear what could have happened. All he could think about was how any other fourteen year old kid was probably out fishing or camping with their family for the summer, not sitting in the smallest closet in the God-forsaken world with a rotting body burning against their feet.

After that, Dean didn’t like small spaces. He avoided them at all costs. It only amplified his fears of flying, thinking of sitting in a tiny tube with circulated air while hurtling hundreds of miles per hour through the sky.

Yeah, Dean wasn’t about to sign up for that.

Any time he found himself trapped in any place, he found he was usually okay for the first few minutes. But after that, it was hell fire and tears, shaking limbs and screaming until someone finally came to get him out.

It wasn’t his fault all he could smell was rotting flesh and feel the loss of air with every breath he took. He couldn’t be blamed for having flashbacks to childhood nightmares that never should have happened in the first place.

Sam thought he was the only one who wanted a normal life.

Yeah, well he was wrong. Dean just couldn’t afford to say so, and he did everything in his power to make sure Sam always had the opportunity to say no to their life.

It only made it harder when Sam jumped into the cage, his last wish for Dean to have the life Sam never could (and yet, probably knew it was also the life Dean always wanted too.)

But Dean never wanted it like that. Not even once.

Yet he did it. He went back to Lisa, and to Ben. And against every odd and fantasy Dean could come up with, they let him in. Lisa gave him a beer, gave him a bed and a home and a family. Dean had never felt more overwhelmed and loved in his life. He soaked it in like sunlight after a thousand years of cloudy days.

The first few months were the hardest. Dean ate too much or didn’t eat at all. He drank more than was healthy for any human being, no matter how healthy, and spent half his time sulking and crying in the dark or making himself useful around the house.

He fixed the gutters, he weeded out the entire yard and garden, helped Lisa fix the roof, and made sure to help get Ben to all his events whenever Lisa had an appointment she couldn’t miss.

Two months in, he finally pulled himself out of his funk and rejoined the land of the living. It was around that same time Lisa invited him back into her bed. Not to do anything, she was quick to reassure, but to sleep. It was an offer to maybe try a few things over.

Dean hesitated at first. He knew he was already taking more than he deserved. Their warmth, their love and affection. Their kindness and understanding. He knew he wasn’t worth it.

But Lisa gave him time, and eventually, he found himself wrapped in her arms underneath her soft creme sheets and teal blankets.

That was a little over a year ago now. Dean felt lighter, brighter than he had since he was a young teen. He couldn’t remember feeling this good since before he was fourteen and up to his hips in guts and gore.

Ben asked lots of questions. He wanted to know about Dean’s life from before, back when he was a hunter and taking out monsters. Dean didn’t know what to tell him. The kid had grown up being told that the monster in his closet wasn’t real, only to later be kidnapped with all of his friends by cherub mutants. It was only logical he’d want to be involved in a world originally thought to be only imaginary. It also made sense that he looked at Dean like a hero.

Dean didn’t want him to. He and his brother may have stopped the apocalypse, but it was at a cost too high. Heroes didn’t let innocent people die. Heroes didn’t let their brothers jump into hell with the devil himself.

But the questions didn’t stop, and Dean decided he’d have to do something. First, he locked away the Impala and all of the too dangerous weapons with it. He then allowed a few stories to be told to Ben. It was only ever enough to answer basic facts, “No you can’t kill a vampire with a wooden stake. Yes, ghouls do in fact hate silver.” But Dean never told stories of the times he had to patch up his father, bleeding to death on the kitchen table as Sam ran to the gas station to steal ice and protein bars. He never told Ben and Lisa about the time a werewolf sliced up his side and everybody thought he was gonna’ die, Dean included, but somehow survived.

And he definitely didn’t tell them about being locked in closets with decomposing monster bodies that somehow gave off an even worse stench than any rotting body Dean ever had the pleasure of digging up in old and forgotten cemeteries.

These were just little things. They were enough to curb Ben’s immediate curiosity, and Lisa always encouraged Dean to open up about the things that bothered him or scared him. If Dean was worried about something, he needed to let them know so they could be prepared.

Dean understood. It wasn’t everyday a hunter was a part of your family. And when one was, it would be foolish not to be ready for anything.

So Dean kept his brave face on. It was the same face he’d adopted for Sam in the early years. The face that said, “I am strong, and I can carry all of you if I have to.” It was the face that screamed trust and dependency. That yes, Dean was reliable. Yes, Dean could handle it. Yes, Dean was not scared of anything.

Except for closets, apparently.

It was a fluke. An honest to God freak accident that no one could have seen coming.

Ben had a soccer game. It was Saturday, sunny and bright and way too hot to have a bunch of twelve year olds running around in oversized shirts and shorts. Dean could feel sweat beading on his brow as he and Lisa screamed from the sidelines, rooting Ben on every time he got the ball or made a scoring pass.

Dean had to admit, Ben was good. He could remember watching Sam race across the field both ways, eager to make his team proud and his coach happy. Sam had been good too. Ben seemed to be in the same league, and within a few short hours, his team won.

Dean probably screamed the loudest, his face pulled back in one of the biggest grins he’d had in a year, excluding the game night they had a few weeks back where they all played past midnight, each one of them laughing themselves breathless when they should have been in bed asleep.

But none of them ended up regretting it, and Dean could feel the lingering tension lines on his face from laughing so hard. He beamed for the next thirty minutes straight as they headed to the after party at the school. Dean and Lisa were in charge of refreshments and minor snacks, and they’d taken the liberty of storing the beverages in the coolers in the brown house, a storage house for visitors and events hidden just behind the school.

Ben was grinning and talking with animated hands as they pulled up, eyes wide with the thrill of the win as he jumped out of the back of Dean’s pickup. He was all too eager to help Dean pull out the box of fruit snacks and crackers, and Dean couldn’t help but beam proudly at the kid he had unofficially started thinking of his son.

It’d been over a year. Ben had even slipped once or twice and called him ‘Dad.’ The first time had stunned him so bad he couldn’t talk straight for an hour. The second time, Dean’s heart was filled to the point of explosion.

Now, Ben was still talking with wild hand gestures as he exclaimed, “I can’t believe we won!”

“Of course you did,” Dean said, ruffling Ben’s hair with his free hand, the other busy tucking the box beneath his arm and against his hip. “You’ve got wings on your feet, kiddo.”

“No I don’t,” Ben rolled his eyes, but reached out and quickly offered to help Lisa with the second box.

“Do you think you could get the kool-aid, babe?” Lisa asked as they walked over the kid infested area, already set up with balloons and too much candy than should be at a soccer party.

Dean nodded and set his box down, feeling a smile that glowed deep inside him when Lisa leaned over and pecked a kiss to his cheek.

“Sure you don’t want me to help get all this crap out?”

That earned him a slap on the ass and a chastising eyebrow.

“Remember, language in front of the little ones,” she grinned. Dean rolled his eyes and grinned.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied. “But it doesn’t change the fact it’s still c-r-a-p.”

He narrowly dodged another swat and kissed Lisa on the temple. He didn’t escape the thrown towel at this head, but he could hear her laughing as he walked away to the brown house.

He ran into several neighbors on his way. There was the Brucesters. a nice couple with three children all ranging from toddlers to high school, a guy from some accounting office named Dan who made it his number one mission to give all his neighbors casseroles monthly, and a kind elderly woman who trapped Dean in a conversation for a solid ten minutes before he finally escaped with a hasty excuse about kool-aid.

By the time he made it to the brown house itself, he was cursing himself and betting Lisa would give him an earful when he returned. If the other kids were anything like Ben, they’d guzzle through half the coolers before noon.

Dean rolled his eyes and wandered into the back of the house, quickly finding the kitchen and the small storage room where the coolers were kept under shelves.

Dean could remember complaining to Lisa about them only a week prior when they brought the goods in.

“Honestly, if they know people are going to be storing stuff in here, you’d think they’d make it a little more user friendly,” he’d grunted as he shoved the oversized red cooler beneath the canned goods section.

Lisa had rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“They’ve been using this place for years,” she’d explained. “Join the school board. Maybe you could get it in the budget.”

Dean was pretty sure he dropped an obscenity at that, earning him a playful slap in the shoulder.

“Come on! There aren’t even kids around!”

“Practice makes perfect,” was Lisa’s only response.

The following thirty minutes were mostly filled with fiery kisses and groping hands. Dean was pretty sure a kid walking in on that scene would have been far worse than hearing a muttered curse word, but Lisa wasn’t arguing, so Dean didn’t bring it up. His thoughts had been otherwise occupied.

He found the red cooler where they left it, still sitting beneath the canned goods like they were born to live there. Dean shook his head and stepped inside, knelt down and wrapped his hands around the handles.

“Alright, you better move for me or I’m gonna’ be pissed,” Dean muttered. The red cooler sat blankly in front of him.

Dean pulled, and immediately heard a sharp clang from the door. His eyes shot up to the side and his back went rigid.

Paling, he turned to look with horror at the only thing that sound could have meant.

The door had slammed shut. It only opened from the outside.

The sinking realization was the only thing that spurred Dean’s legs into action, immediately throwing him to the door so he could check again that yes, in fact, there was no door handle inside the cramped storage room.

Dean felt his breaths shudder inside him as he pushed his arms against the door, hoping against hope it would magically swing open, like one of those puny breakable doors on television. But there wasn’t a single budge. He kicked it, and the door groaned back. Otherwise, it didn’t move.

His chest heaved as he threw his shoulder into it, threw his body into it. Once, twice, three times. Nothing happened at all.

Dean stepped back and stared, eyes wide and unseeing.

It was like he was fourteen again. He could see it now, staring at a closet door and hoping against hope his dad would hear him and come save him. But his father was long dead, and Sam was in hell.

Dean felt his palms sweat as he stepped back and began to pace the room. He should have brought his phone with him, call for help. But his phone was in Lisa’s bag since the beginning of the soccer game.

He thought of Lisa and Ben, out enjoying the party and no doubt socializing, having no clue that Dean was currently trapped in the damn smallest room he’d ever been in since he was a teen.

They’d have to know something was wrong eventually. They had to. Dean had already been delayed talking with the neighbors, and any second now Lisa would probably be coming in to check on what was taking so long.

Yeah, any second now. Dean repeated the mantra over in his head a dozen times before he started to realize his hands were shaking in fists at his sides. His pacing increased, and he glared at the door in front of him.

The room was too small. He briefly wondered which was smaller, that damn closet or this storage room? After a few seconds of thought, he decided both options were equally horrifying and promptly returned to pacing, running the mantra over in his mind again.

It’d only been a few minutes. Maybe five. Maybe ten? How long had he even been in the brown house?

He couldn’t have been gone longer than twenty minutes now. If they hadn’t noticed that the refreshments weren’t back already, then Lisa would undoubtedly start to ask people if they’d seen him. It would just be minutes before she came wandering back to the brown house. Minutes.

Dean counted his breaths and forced himself to remain calm.

It was getting harder as his eyes flitted around the tiny room. It was probably about as long as his body. Six feet, just wide enough for his shoulders then another half of his width, and that was his room. That, and about two dozen shelves and canned goods and boxes and God knew what else…

There wasn’t enough air. Dean gasped sharply and sat down, back ramrod straight as he sucked in breaths and forced himself to try and remain calm.

Any minute now. Lisa would realize he was gone. She was probably looking for him already, and if not him, definitely the drinks. She’d find both of them here, and Dean would get out and be reunited with fresh air, green grass, open skies, fresh air… He needed air.

His limbs had started shaking harder not long ago. Dean shook his head fiercely and tried to make it stop, but to no avail. His shoulders trembled and he felt sweat drip down the side of his face.

He couldn’t believe this. Here he was, Dean Winchester, the man who had faced down angels and demons alike, literally shot Satan in the head, and couldn’t keep his cool in a storage room.

Irony was a cruel mistress.

Dean’s thoughts briefly went to Ben, who was probably playing with his friends and eating way too much sugar. He’d probably have a sugar high all night, eventually crash somewhere on the floor and Dean would have to carry him back to bed.

But that was, of course, assuming Dean didn’t pass out in this God-forsaken room and have to be taken away to the ER for shock or something equally ridiculous.

He tried to imagine what Ben would think if he saw Dean now. What would Lisa think?

This was Dean, for shit’s sake. He was supposed to be a rock. He was supposed to be strong and handle anything. Sure, he had two and a half months of hell when he first showed up, but he was better now, and he was determined not to fall back into self pity. He had to be strong for Ben and Lisa. He had to prove he could take care of himself.

How would it look if he couldn’t even handle a few minutes of dark silence in a tiny storage closet? Dean didn’t want to think about it.

He couldn’t breathe.

Dean gasped and wrapped his shaking arms over his head, ducking down to try and suck in air that was growing thinner by the second. Distantly, he swore he could smell the rotting flesh of the shifter on his clothes. He could remember the burning smell of the silver leaking through the monster’s skin and bleeding out all over Dean’s jeans and sneakers, soaking through until everything up to his hips and stomach were covered in red ooze and smelled of metallic blood and silver.

He wanted to throw up, but swallowed hard and focused on sucking in the remaining air he had left.

It felt like days before he heard anything but his own ragged breathing. Distantly, he was aware someone was speaking his name, but it wasn’t until hands were pulling his arms away from his face that Dean looked up and saw worried brown eyes staring into his.

“Dean?!” Lisa exclaimed. Her hands cupped Dean’s jaw, lifting up his face to stare directly into hers.

Dean choked on the waft of fresh air that rolled into the room, and he vaguely realized there were wet tracks on his face where Lisa was brushing her thumbs against his cheeks. He reached out and grasped at her arms, pulling her close until he had his arms full of Lisa’s body, face pressed desperately into her shoulder so he could breathe her in completely.

Lisa smelled like those texas cedarwood candles she was always buying. She smelled like lavender shampoo and the soft cleaning detergent Dean put into the laundry on Sunday’s. She smelled like warmth and safety and peace.

Lisa’s hand carded through Dean’s hair, and he suddenly realized she was hushing him, rubbing his back and whispering soft nothings to him.

“Oh Dean,” she said softly, pulling him in tighter to her arms until Dean was sure there was nothing left between them. “It’s okay, it’s okay I’ve got you. You’re safe, it’s alright.”

Dean’s breathing shuddered, gasped, pulled at his chest and throat until he began to find a steady rhythm. In, out, in, out. He sucked in air through his nose and finally felt his shoulders begin to relax.

Lisa’s arms didn’t loosen. If anything, she held on tighter. Dean leaned into her embrace as she continued to caress him, mess up his hair, rub the tension and fear right out of his muscles until there was nothing left of him but a pile of goo and stuffed up emotions.

He groaned when his body gave up, collapsing weakly in her capable hands. She pressed his face against her chest, his ear settled perfectly over her heart where he could hear every beat. It was steady and reassuring. Dean felt his eyes flutter closed as he listened attentively.

“Mom?”

And suddenly, the spell was broken. Dean’s body stiffened, and Lisa’s arms tightened protectively around him.

“Yes Ben?” Lisa called back.

“Is… is Dean alright?”

From the shadows leaking into the room, Dean could tell he was standing just outside the doorway. He was probably the one keeping the door open when Lisa came in.

The thought churned something ugly and awful inside him. It made him want to sink into a hole and turn into nothing. Anything was better than letting Ben see him like this.

“He will be,” Lisa promised. “Get a box to keep the door open. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“...Okay.”

Dean heard the sound of shuffling, and soon enough, footsteps trudged away reluctantly. Dean’s shoulders didn’t relax, but Lisa’s hands were insistent.

“I’m so sorry,” Lisa murmured into his hair, pressing gentle kisses to his scalp wherever she could reach. “We all got so caught up in what was going on, I totally forgot to check back and see if  you’d picked up everything okay. Didn’t even realize how much time had passed. I’m so sorry.”

Dean said nothing and closed his eyes, memories flashing back to John and his story. ‘Had another shifter, son,’ John had said. ‘Got caught in a scuffle. Took a bit to take care of the body. I didn’t know you’d run off to the victim’s house till I was halfway out.’

He shook his head hard. He didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to think about now, and how warm Lisa’s body was against his. He wanted to think about getting out of this room and back outside where he wasn’t just safe, but free.

But most importantly, he just wanted Lisa to never stop holding him. At least for now. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to stand on his own.

“Can you talk?” Lisa asked quietly, finally.

Dean nodded briefly, then thought better and shook his head. He wasn’t sure he had the energy right now.

His honesty was rewarded with a lingering kiss against his forehead.

“That’s okay,” Lisa replied. “You don’t have to right now. Would you like to go outside?”

Dean nodded. He felt Lisa smile against his hairline.

“Okay,” Lisa said. “Then let’s get up, shall we? I don’t think the cement is good for our knees.”

Her voice was teasing, light. But Dean could detect the worry just beneath her tone. She had no idea how long he was trapped in here anymore than he was. Dean wasn’t even sure how long he’d been holding himself on the floor, waiting for something, anything to happen.

Lisa helped him to his feet, and he felt himself sway into her direction, eager to get back into her arms before they took a single step forward.

“There we go,” Lisa murmured, wiping a hand across his face in a gentle stroke. Dean closed his eyes at the touch, felt a small smile touch his lips. “Would you like to go back out to the party? Or would you like some time to recuperate?”

Dean shrugged and snuck his hand into hers. Lisa smiled at him kindly.

“There’s a few chairs out in the kitchen area,” Lisa said. “I’ll sit you down there, get you a drink. You look dehydrated.”

Dean followed her blindly until they reached the next room, finally out of the storage closet, and sat him down at the table. Dean could see the party a few yards away through the windows. But most importantly, he could see the sun, and he could feel the wind through the open doorway to the brown house.

He sighed in relief, barely noticing when Lisa walked away or when she returned. She touched his forehead, making him jump in surprise until he saw the cold glass of blue kool-aid in her hand. Dean accepted it gratefully, draining it in three solid gulps before handing it back.

The rush of cold liquid through his system came as a shock, and he felt better in seconds. He smiled up at Lisa tiredly and croaked out, “Thanks.”

Lisa nodded simply and pushed his hair back, leaning down to kiss him again. Dean smiled at the touch and watched as she sat down on a chair beside him. Their ankles crossed each others, and Dean felt his body begin to relax with the continued contact.

Her eyes were still worried when she said, “I really am sorry.”

Dean glanced up at her, hating the way her gaze kept flickering between him and the floor, guilt and shame lurking in the darkness of her eyes.

He reached out and took her hand in his, nudging her to come closer. She did so silently, and leaned her head against his shoulder, looking up at him expectantly.

“It’s not your fault,” Dean replied quietly, beginning to find his voice again now that he had some fluids in him. “Didn’t think the door would close on me… like that.”

He shuddered, wondering if now he’d always flash back to clanging doors instead of rotting flesh. Both sounded equally horrible.

“I take it you don’t like small spaces, then.”

Dean had expected her tone to sound disbelieving, hell, even judgemental. But instead, her voice was soft and kind. She was just as firm and to the point as ever. But the gentleness and understanding was undeniable.

Dean looked down at her, unable to mask his surprise, and nodded his head slowly.

Lisa hummed in acknowledgement and pressed her nose against his neck, breathing out long and low for a moment before replying, “Okay. I’ll remember that for future reference.”

“I-It’s not that big a’ deal,” Dean stammered.

Lisa shook her head and sighed, but he could feel the small smile on her lips.

“Maybe not. But it might be good to know if we ever find ourselves in a tight spot. You know?”

Dean huffed at that, but nodded in understanding.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Lisa shifted beside him, bringing up her face to his level.

Not for the first time, Dean was struck by how beautiful she looked. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail from the game, but strands were falling around her neck and shoulders, drifting in her face and making her tanned skin look unexpectedly exotic in the summer heat. Her dark brown eyes were still worried, but there was a new layer of understanding. There was something unexplainably profound in the way she stared at him, like some new mystery was unravelling before her eyes. It was like her love had deepened.

The thought was vaguely terrifying, but in a warming way.

“Will you be alright?” She asked softly, and Dean knew she wasn’t talking about his closet episode.

He thought of Ben. The kid was probably worried sick, wondering what the hell had happened to make Dean freak out so bad. But Dean wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to explain having something as ridiculous as a panic attack. He was supposed to be stronger than that kind of thing, right?

But Lisa made him feel like it was perfectly natural to have a fault, have a weakness. It made him feel safe enough to talk about. Safe enough to not try to hide in embarrassment from what he’d done.

Dean gave it a moment of thought, then nodded slowly.

“I think so,” he replied quietly.

If he could feel this safe with Lisa, then he’d just have to trust that Ben was raised well enough not to laugh in Dean’s face for having claustrophobia. Even if it was awkward as hell, and Dean knew he’d have to explain a few things, he figured he might be able to handle it. Especially if Lisa was there beside him.

They traded a few brief kisses before standing and making their way outside again. Dean felt significantly better with Lisa holding tight to his hand, nearly hugging his side for the remainder of the party so Dean could stay grounded without freaking out or remembering that only an hour ago he’d been trapped in a closet and had a panic attack.

If anyone noticed his skittishness, no one mentioned it. Instead people were kind, conversations carried on as normal, and Dean felt blissfully at peace.

Even after Ben found them, Dean found himself vaguely anxious, but was able to keep calm as Ben asked quietly if Dean would be alright.

The answer was yes. And even if Dean had to explain more later, he realized for the first time in a year, that he genuinely, completely, actually had a very real chance at being okay.

Maybe a domestic life wasn’t such an impossible idea after all.

**Author's Note:**

> me: lovefromdean.tumblr.com
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed it! thank you for reading!


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